


Wild nights should be

by zinjadu



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Alistair gives it while also taking it, Anal Sex, But they're not married, Butt Plugs, F/M, Honeymoon, Oral Sex, POV Female Character, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Poetry, Seduction, Smut, Teasing, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-25
Updated: 2018-07-25
Packaged: 2019-06-15 21:34:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15422049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zinjadu/pseuds/zinjadu
Summary: In a darkened theatre, Alistair recites some saucy lines in Caitwyn’s ear.  They can’t get back to their bedroom fast enough.





	Wild nights should be

**Author's Note:**

> Saucy Lines lifted from: To His Mistress Going to Bed by John Donne.

The stage hands lowered the wicks of the oil lamps plunging the theatre into darkness, and Caitwyn sat forward eagerly in her chair.  Alistair sprawled in his own seat next to her in the box they had purchased for the performance. Doing something like this would have been unthinkable in Denerim, but here in Antiva City, a whole world of possibilities lay before them.  After their disastrous adventure and  _ discussions  _ in the Free Marches, taking refuge in a city where they were unknown and taking the time to simply  _ be _ together away from the Vigil felt like one of her better ideas in years.

As the lights slowly bloomed back into life along the stage, she glanced over at Alistair, an appreciative smile on her face.  Posing as a newlywed couple had its advantages, and one of them was seeing him in something other than armor. After all, what new husband did not wish to impress his wife?  He wore a new set of black, tight-fitting breeches and a blue, high collared jacket that he left half undone in deference to the heat this far north. The open jacket left exposed his crisp, white linen shirt, but more importantly the hollow of his throat and the line of his neck.  A neck that still had faint little bite marks on it from their exertions that morning.

Her hand traced up his thigh and his mouth curved in a lazy smirk, his hazel eyes turning a dark amber in the low light.  He covered her hands with his own, warm and strong. His thumb gently circled her knuckles, but she returned her attention to the stage as the players began to recite the prologue. 

The play was some romantic tragedy with a flimsy premise, star crossed lovers and vows and all sorts of other nonsense.  She had pointed out the playbill to Alistair as they roamed the streets that day, but then he had told her that he  _ knew _ the play.  Apparently young boys in monasteries  were adept at getting their hands on  _ interesting  _ literature.  Once she knew that, she’d insisted on seeing it.  Any smutty play Alistair knew was one she just had to see.

Now they sat in the darkened theatre, and she was enjoying herself thoroughly.  The ribald jokes were sometimes a bit much, but at least the actors had taken the flowery lines and put some real feeling behind them.  Before she knew it, the play had swept her away with the rhythm of its poetry and the passion of the actors. She sat at nearly the edge of her seat, her short but slim legs crossed at the ankles.  

Happily immersed in the story, Caitwyn laughed at one of the bawdier jokes thus far.  Her eyes crinkling with mirth, she turned back to him to share her amusement with him but the low light of the lamps caught in his hazel eyes and reflected a fire, a fire aimed squarely at her.  The intensity of him when he hadn’t expected to be seen like this made her breathing hitch. At that, his eyes flickered down to watch her breasts swell against the deep green corset and ruffled shirt she wore.  

Leaning forward in his chair, his lips were just next to her ear, not quite touching, and his normally jangling, bouncing voice was low and husky as he recited lines in time to the actor on the stage, “Come, Madam, come, all rest my powers defy, Until I labour, I in labour lie.”

Her lips parted with a puff of breath that fluttered over his cheek, and her fingers tightly gripped the arms of the chair.  Surprise skittered over her, that he knew the lines  _ that _ well, and her body came alive to the sense of him, to the heat of his body, to the barely there feel of his nose next to her hair, and the sound of him licking his lips.  Those lips she wanted to kiss, but kissing would mean he would stop talking, and she didn’t want that. Not right now.

“Your gown going off, such beauteous state reveals, As when from flowery meads th’hill’s shadow steals,” he recited for her.  She turned her face away, trying to refocus on the play, but her eyes stared into the middle distance. Her attention had broken, and she didn’t even hear the actor on the stage anymore.  There was only Alistair and his voice. “Off with that wiry Coronet and shew The hairy Diadem which on you doth grow: Now off with those shoes, and then safely tread In this love’s hallow’d temple, this soft bed.”

_ This soft bed _ , the words were drawn out slowly as if laying her down upon it already.  She bit at her bottom lip to keep from moaning and she squirmed as the core of her pulsed with desire.  He was not so restrained, and he slid out of his chair, one hand hovering over her tight pants and coming to rest on the leather of her tall boots to round the curve of her knee and calf.

“Licence my roving hands, and let them go, Before, behind, between, above, below.”  His voice barely above a whisper, she could still hear it, and with one hand she pressed against his chest and felt his warmth through the thin fabric of his shirt.  Raising himself up and bracing on the arms of her chair, he leaned over her. The scent of of him filled her nose--soap and sweat--and he murmured the last: “All joys are due to thee, As souls unbodied, bodies uncloth’d must be, To taste whole joys.”

The speech concluded, but Caitwyn did not turn her attention to the stage.  Instead, she regarded him with heavy lidded eyes, her breath unsteady. For once, not mindful of where they were, she eagerly threaded her fingers through his hair and pulled his lips to hers in a searing kiss.  Her mouth opened under his, and he stroked his tongue against hers, entering her as much as was possible in the moment. With a gasp, they broke apart and their eyes roved over each other’s faces for a long moment. 

He quirked an eyebrow in a silent question, and her full lips curved in answer.  Unwilling to waste another moment, he stood and took her hand in his own and together they fled the theatre.

Caitwyn’s heart fluttered in her chest as she and Alistair ran through the streets of Antiva City hand in hand like wild, unruly youths.  Her breath was ragged in her own ears, and they rounded the final corner to the small house they had rented for their stay. At the door, she waited while Alistair dug into a pocket for the key, his voice a low grumble about his pants being  _ too tight _ .  Lips curved in a grin, Caitwyn stood on tiptoe and pressed her body close to his, her lips just brushing the exposed, freckled hollow of throat as she reached one delicate hand into his pants pocket and slowly withdrew the key.  Stepping in front of him to unlock the door, he pressed himself against her. She could feel him through their clothing, his hardness against her back and hands resting lightly on her hips.

She lost herself in the sensation of him around her for a moment, her breathing turning shallow.  Never mind that they were still outside. He chuckled at her distraction and nudged the door open with one hand.  Turning to face him, she trailed one hand across his chest and down his arm, tickling along the palm of his right hand.  She took a step backwards into the house, keeping his eyes captured with her own, and twined their fingers together as she pulled him to follow her.  Another step back, he took another toward her and kicked the door shut behind him.

Inside the house was dark, not a lamp lit, and the windows were shuttered on the first floor to give them some privacy.  But she could see the outline of him looming above her, and he had always been able to find her in the dark. With aching slowness, he bent his head towards hers and pressed his lips to hers, the barest, gentle pressure.  Her eyes fluttered closed and she felt him shift, shucking out of his jacket, and she ran her hands up his chest and over his broad shoulders, her fingers bunching in the fabric of his shirt. 

His lips grazed her cheek, working his way toward her ear.  Tilting her head for him, he nibbled on her earlobe and then licked along the line of her ear, sending a shiver through her whole body.  Her breasts tingled in anticipation, and she felt a throb of want between her legs. A moan tipped from her lips, and he hummed with satisfaction.

“You,” she puffed.  “Are a bad, bad man.”

“I  _ did _ warn you,” he drawled.  He cupped her rear with one hand, a firm, sure touch that followed the curve of her body.  

“Good thing I like it,” she replied, lilting voice gone husky.

“Well, I very much aim to please.”  His voice was low in her ear, and he backed her toward the stairs.  At the winding staircase, she retreated up one step and perched on top-toe on the wooden riser.  Letting her arms rest over his shoulders, she nuzzled her face against his neck and the ran her tongue up his neck, tasting the salt sheen of his skin.

He sucked in a hard breath, the apple of his throat bobbing as he swallowed heavily.  Her grin flashed white and sharp in the dark, and she turned to fly upstairs, Alistair’s hand giving her bottom a solid pat as she went.  Behind her, she heard his heavier tread close on her heels. In their bedroom, she opened the glass window and the heavy, wooden shutters though she drew the gauzy curtains closed.  Alistair, meanwhile, lit a single lamp, the golden glow a warm counterpoint to the silver light of the moon that streamed in through the filter of the curtains.

The bedroom was lushly appointed, taking up the entirety of the second floor of the house, and the bed was solidly built and large enough for four people easily.  The walls were painted a deep red with golden accents, lending a rich, sensuous feeling to the whole room. Alistair sat on the low, red upholstered settee, watching her with undisguised yearning.  He crooked a finger at her, and she slowly sauntered toward him, letting her hips swing in a way she knew he liked. 

She reached him and rested her hands on his shoulders for a moment as they gazed at each other with naked lust.  His hands stroked up her thighs to settle on her hips again, and gently he turned her around to face away from him.  Her legs trembled, already weak for the attention he was showering upon her, and he slowly pulled at the laces of her corset.  As though he had all the time in the world, he undid the securing knot, and then worked the tight laces free, one by one by one.  At every tug, her body thrummed, and she wanted to turn around and kiss his face, his body, to feel him and taste him, but she remained where he wanted her.

The bones of the corset released her, and she inhaled deeply.  He pulled her down to sit perched across his thighs, and she raised her arms, letting him slip the corset off over her head rather than undo the laces completely.  Her thin, linen shirt hung lose on her, but he didn’t sneak a hand up her shirt. Instead, he pressed a kiss to the back of her neck and nuzzled his long nose into her hair.

“I don’t suppose there’s something I could ask you to do for me tonight?” he asked gently.  It wasn’t a demand because he knew how to pick his words after all these years.  _ For me _ , not  _ to me _ or  _ you will _ , but  _ for me _ .  Maker, what wouldn’t she do for this man? 

“You know I will,” she breathed, letting her eyes drift closed as she relished in the feel of him close but not quite touching her.  “What is it?” At her agreement, he hummed happily and dropped a kiss to the join of her neck and shoulder.

“Think you can guess,” he told her huskily, and he firmly grabbed her bottom while at the same time he took her hand and placed it on his own backside.  She pressed her fingers against him, enjoying the round feel of his buttocks under her hand, even through the leather of his breeches. 

“Well, might’ve made a little extra purchase while I was out today,” she said as she let her head loll back to up at him, a smug grin on her face. 

“Oh?”  His voice rose inquiringly on the word, and he arched an eyebrow at her.  Wiggling out of his embrace, she flitted to the small pile of packages she’d left in the corner of the room after returning from the shops.  Like a diving hawk, she retrieved the discrete box and returned to the settee, kneeling on the plush fabric between his splayed legs. 

“I thought, since we left all our, um,  _ aides _ at home, well,” she trailed off with a little cough.  Embarrassed heat bloomed in her cheeks and along her ears, even after they’d been together for the past seven years.  Watching him from underneath her lashes, she lifted the lid of the box for him. He took the box from her and grinned at the blown-glass toy it held.  His lips curved into that crooked grin she loved so well, and gently he took the box from her, closing the lid and setting it aside on the low, circular table.

“Have I ever told you that I adore how prepared you are?” he asked, a chuckle jangling through his words. 

“Once or twice,” she replied with a grin.  He pulled her to him once more, and she sprawled on top him, one leg hooked over his hip.  His hands tangled in her short curls and he kissed her deeply. Rolling her hips against his she felt the hard length of him against her and a moan escaped her as he groaned into her mouth.  With a wrench, he broke them apart and they both caught their breath. 

Cupping her face in his hands, he stroked his thumbs lightly over her cheeks.  Her fingers curled over his hands, and she kissed one palm then the other before licking along one elegant finger and taking into her mouth.  He inhaled sharply as she drew her lips over one knuckle, then the next, letting her tongue flick the tip of his finger as she let him go. He shifted his grip and brought the back of her hand to his lips while he held her gaze and spread his other hand over her taut belly.  Slowly, he stroked his hand up along her body under her shirt, thumb gently massaging one small, pert breast. She gasped and arched at the touch. His face split in a crooked grin, and his thumb rubbed over her nipple. A shiver of pleasure ran from her breast, down her belly and pulsed warm and wet between her legs. 

Reverently, he pulled her shirt up and over her head, while she tugged his shirt out of the waistband of his breeches.  He sat up and lifted his arms, letting her pull his shirt off, and she threw the combined ball of their clothing to the far side of the room.  Her mouth eagerly sought his body, licking and tasting his freckled skin he stroked her breasts, her arms, and her back. She kissed and nipped his neck while he undid the lacing on her breeches.  Once they were loose around her hips, he cupped her bare buttocks with his strong hands and she pressed her breasts to his chest, letting her nipples trace over his skin, sending little shocks through her body.

“Hm, as much as I like you in those boots, they are going to be a problem,” he mused.  “Hard to get your pants off.”

“Well,” she said, tapping her fingers along his chest, playing with the fluff there.  “This could help.” Disentangling herself from him, she slid off the settee to stand. She propped one leg up, offering up the boot for his attentions.  Taking the boot in his hands, he gripped it and pulled while she pointed her foot and let him slide it off of her leg. He tossed it negligently over his shoulder, where it landed on the hard wood with a thump.  She offered her other leg, and he did the same with that boot. 

Unshod, she stood before him, breasts bared and her breeches halfway down her hips.  He gazed up at her in the gold and silver light, and she felt like an ancient heathen goddess for the adoration on his face.  His hands tugged her pants down the rest of the way and she lightly stepped out of them, kicking them away. He gently pressed his lips to her stomach and then knelt in front of her, lips trailing over her thighs as his hands held her hips firmly in place.  Panting, her body vibrated like a lute, alive to his slightest touch, and her hands tangled in his ruddy-blonde hair. Delicately, he brushed his lips over her mound, and she gasped.

“Alistair,” she whispered, “Oh, I should… before I—for you, I should.”  In spite of her muddled, mumbled words, he understood her meaning. Reaching across the settee, he picked up the box and kicked off his boots before they tumbled onto the large bed.  The soft down and cotton stuffed mattress depressed under their combined weight. She took the box from him even though her body cried out to take him inside her. He began to fumble at his own laces, but she stilled his hand. 

“Cait, it’s,” he started to say.  She brushed her lips against his temple, and he exhaled slowly.

“You asked me,  _ for you _ .  And I will,” she told him.  His hand fell away from the front of his breeches, and she set the box next to her before she slowly tugged at his laces.  She shucked him out of his breeches, freeing his member from it confines. She drank in the sight of him, his skin warm and golden in the light.  Tracing the line of his chest, she let her hand wander across his taut stomach and then lower to round the line of his hip. With a sure hand, she cupped him firmly, and his head bowed forward with a moan, and he grew harder in her hand.  Her mouth parted in anticipation, but she had something to do first.

She nudged his shoulder with her nose and he rolled onto his side.  Pressed the length of herself against his broad back, her lips brushed across his shoulders, and his breathing sped up.  They did this so rarely, and like every time she hoped she did it right. Her hand stroked his rear, and he arched into her.  The movement made the throb between her legs intensify, but she controlled herself. For him. Then, tenderly, she pressed her finger between his cheeks, massaging around the rim.  A strangled moan broke from him, and he bucked. 

“Oh Maker, Cait, oh Cait,” he moaned breathlessly.  She continued to tease him that way until she could feel him relax.  Rolling away from him for a moment, she opened the box and removed the smooth glass toy and the bottle of oil that she had purchased as well.  Deftly, she dipped a measure of the oil onto the bulb of the toy and slowly pushed it inside of him. He threw his head back and groaned. She nipped at his neck while she moved the toy back and forth gently, and held him as best she could, pressing her breasts to his back and hooking one leg over his hips.

She teased him with the toy, withdrawing it fully only to sink it back into him again with aching slowness.  Working her other arm over his shoulder, she ran her hand down his chest and stroked his stomach and followed the line of fuzz down until she could tease his length with her hand.  Pumping her hand in time to her strokes of the toy, Alistair’s hips bucked again, and his groans became low and guttural. Frantically, he grabbed her hand and moved it away from him, holding it to his chest, a signal for her stop.  She did, and for a moment, they lay curled together, panting and trembling. 

“I did well, then?” she asked teasingly.  Huffing darkly, he rolled over and on top of her, his weight bearing her down.  He worked one leg between hers, and he glanced down to see him fully erect and desperate for her.  Lowering himself over her, he spoke low against her sensitive ear.

“I want you.”  She heard it, she  _ felt _ it, his want in his husky voice and in his body taut and hard against her.  “I want you every way I can think of. With my mouth, with my hands, I want every part of you, Cait.  I want your mouth, I want to be inside you, between your legs, in your… backside.” His words faltered slightly, but the passion they contained was as unstoppable as a flood and sent a tremor through her.  Every part of her he named tingled, aching for him. Tracing the lines of his face, she gazed up at him and let her hands roam his body. Clinging to him, she pressed him closer to her, holding him by his shoulders.  Those broad, strong shoulders with their smattering of freckles. 

His head bent to her breasts, taking one nipple and then her entire small breast into his mouth, swirling his tongue around her nipple.  She arched against him and her legs fell open. He kissed his way down her body, his long nose trailing in the wake of his lips, nuzzling at her skin.  She watched as he pressed his mouth to the inside of her thighs, first one then the other, teasing as he switched between them, coming closer but not quite touching the crux between her legs.  Her breathing grew ragged, and her eyes fluttered closed as he continued to tantalize her, to draw closer like a circling hawk, but hold back from making the final plunge. Unable to stand it any further, her lips parted and she panted, “Alistair, Alistair,  _ please _ .”

The first touch of him was barely there, but she felt his lips against her wet warmth.  Her moan was breathy, and strained to hold still, to not writhe about. Her hand found its way into his hair again, and her hips rocked against his mouth as he tasted her, as he consumed her.  One hand sneaking under her bottom, he fingered her between her cheeks as she had done for him, and she cried out. She was not to completion, not yet, but the drumbeats of pleasure sounded loud in her ears.

Then her sense of him was gone, and she opened her eyes to see him wiping the back of his hand across his mouth.  His hazel eyes burned for her, and he stretched out over her again. He was warm, so warm, and she quivered with want of him.  Hungry, she rose up and captured his lips with hers, needing him with all the intensity of a storm. His hand cupped her rear again, lifting her hips up, and he rolled her over onto her side.  Lying behind her, she felt his member nestle against the cleft of her cheeks.

“Do you—can we?” he asked haltingly.  In reply, she reached up behind her and cupped the back of his neck as she wiggled her rear against him.  Her breathing hitched, and he hummed in satisfaction. His mouth roamed her neck, her jaw, her ear, and his finger massaged at her rim, and she arched into him, pressing against his finger.  Ever so slightly, she could feel it enter her, slowly, slowly, she worked herself more fully onto him. Pleasure pulsed through her body, a warm throb building between her legs, a counterpoint to the stretching,  _ filling _ sensation in her rear.

“I want you, Alistair, please,  _ you _ ,” she begged, her body electric with need.  He withdrew his finger from her, and she felt desperately, horribly empty.  The mattress shifted under his moving weight as he reached across her body to retrieve the little toy box.  She rolled over to face him once more, and took the oil out of his hand. Dabbing some into her hand, she slowly stroked him, slicking the oil along his length.  He thrust into her hand, unable to help himself, and she teased the tip of him with deft fingers. 

With a growl, he took her oil slick hand in his and turned her back over, pressing her hand into the mattress.  She curled her knees to her chest, her bottom pressing against him, and he pressed the tip of his member against her.  Gently, he worked himself inside of her, slowly rocking his hips forward and back, and she felt him slide in and out of her.  She keened with pleasure, her breath leaving her in rapid puffs, and she began to move her hips in time with his. They moved together like the sea lapping at the shore, and rock and wave, push and pull, each stoke deeper than the last.  Pants and sighs and moans dripped from her lips, his name mixed up in there somewhere, while his lower groans and the frantic, prayerful mummers of her name sounded in her ears.

Shivers shook her limbs, and her climax built, a locus of heat between her legs, inside of her rear, sparking, crackling along her body.  Then he sped up, and she knew he was close. As though he could barely breathe, he was only able to say, “Cait, Cait, I’m going to.”

“Yes, please, Alistair, yes, please,” she panted.  He sped up his pace, and a scream waited behind her breastbone as he sank into her.  She pressed her face into the pillow, trying to keep from being so unbearably loud. But then he bent his head to kiss her neck, and his oiled hand caressed between her legs. One long finger then another slid inside of her, and she rubbed herself against the heel of his hand.  He was all around her, inside of her, filling every part of her, and her climax unfurled through her body. Arcing up from between her legs, from inside of her buttocks, pleasure tingled and raced along her body and through her mind like a storm breaking over the land.

Her own inarticulate moans loud in her ears, she was nearly insensible as he continued to thrust into her.  Lethargically, she turned her head to watch his face as he moved inside of her until his eyes closed and his head lolled back as his release shivered along his body, and she felt an echo of pleasure as she delighted in taking him, in taking all of him. 

The warmth of summer this far north lingered into the night and drifted into their bedroom through the gauzy curtains.  The moisture in the air and their exertions has painted a sheen of sweat on their skin, yet neither of them cared to move and break the spell of blissful completion.  His lips pressed into her shoulder gently, and she ran a crooked finger down his prominent, beautiful nose, tapping the tip cheekily. He huffed, his stomach twitching against her back.  Still joined, he lightly stoked the backs of his fingers down her arm and she twisted about to rest her forehead to the hollow of his throat. Their hearts beat down to a normal cadence, and their breathing evened out.  Then he smiled, that lazy, crooked smile, his whole expression contented and smug at the same time. 

“You were, ah, quite loud there at the end,” he commented wryly.  Caitwyn blinked.

“I was?”  In spite of all they had just done the very idea that  _ other people _ could have overheard them made her want to throw the blankets over her head and disappear.  Even in the Vigil, with its thick castle walls, she was able to keep fairly quiet.

“Oh yes,” he drawled, walking his fingers up her arm.

“Well, whose fault is that then?”  Her eyes narrowed, but there was nothing left in her to be actually angry.  She was putting on a show of it all, like the play they had so abruptly fled.

“Um, mine, and I’m proud of it, thank you.”  He preened at her, and she only rolled her eyes.  They lingered in each other’s arms for a few moments longer before Alistair slowly slid out of her.  He rummaged in the bedside table for a kerchief and gently dabbed her clean. Once she was in less danger of making a complete mess of the sheets, Caitwyn gently withdrew the little toy from Alistair, taking her time to clean it with water from the pitcher near the fireplace and put it away.  As she did so, he kissed her sweetly on her neck, and said in a low voice, “I love you. Love you so much.”

“I love you,” she whispered, the words too small and also too much for the swell of her heart at the very thought of him.  Resting her head against his, she delighted in the simple closeness of him, even while they did something so mundane as clean up after sex.  He turned down the wick of the lamp, letting the flame gutter out, leaving them only the light of the moon to see by. They climbed back into bed, and Alistair picked the thinnest sheet up off the floor and spread it over them.  She curled up in his arms, a lethargic heaviness invading her limbs.

Then she sat bolt upright as she realized something.

“What? Cait, what is it?!”  Alistair’s voice was threaded with panic at her abrupt shift in demeanor.  Turning to him with wide, guileless eyes, she held a delicate hand to her mouth in mock despair.

“I missed the play!”

A pillow smacked her upside the head and she laughed.


End file.
